Tales of Suspense
by Nicole Starling
Summary: Juliet Fowler's on the run from S.H.I.E.L.D. and an ever-growing list of people who want to either use her or destroy her. But when time comes for her to choose a side in the battle for the future of humanity, she will have to learn how to control new-found powers, before they turn her into the villain of the story.
1. Chapter 1

**PREFACE**

She should've felt at ease, sitting on that metal chair in the middle of the room, but after the last few weeks —Hell, the last few days—, she felt different. On a different day, she would be hiding in her room, crying and screaming, shivering under the covers like a scared animal. She wouldn't have even considered the offer they made her. She was never that bold. She never was.

Instead, she felt numb. She noticed her scraped knuckles still had leftover dried blood in them that hadn't rubbed off in the shower. Some was hers, some was most likely not. Her whole body was beaten to a pulp. Under her clean shirt, jean and jacket, she hid colorful bruises and scratches like one of those abstract paintings that look just like splattered paint, there were even a few tender spots on her torso and back where deep that were healing, stab wounds that would've put someone else three feet underground.

Lucky —or unlucky, for her, she wasn't someone else.

Through the thick concrete walls of the small room, she felt pulses. It was still new to her, but after the mess she'd been through, it became more of a hum on the back of her mind. They reminded her of the soft, steady beat of music. Each followed a different compass, each heart beat at their own tempo.

She fixated her glance to the wall in front of her, watching her reflection through the two-way mirror, looking at the girl that seemed so small, compared to the empty, colorless interrogation room around her.

Her dark hair was wavy and her face was expressionless, empty, but the leftover scratches and cuts told a different story. She had two particularly large ones over her forehead and cheek. She vaguely remembered the piercing pain when she got them, or how the blood poured out, dripping to her eyebrow and pooling around her blackened eye.

It had been gruesome, but they were know thin red lines that scarred with the passing of the hours. Most importantly, she looked as tired as she felt. She couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled, or could hope for a time she would smile again. Right now she just felt one thing…

The door opened, and she carefully watched the man in the suit every step of the way until he dragged the chair before her and sat down, dumping a large folder on the table. "Miss Fowler," he said. "Let me just start by saying how grateful we are for your incredible performance at the events of the past few days…"

"I did what had to be done." She muttered, vague memories flashed before her eyes like a recording on a loop. Blasts of light, clouds of dust. She eyed to the mirror on the wall. "Is it necessary that they watch, too?"

The man looked behind his back at his reflection, trying to see behind it, but all he faced was his own confused face, and how good his suit looked, then looked back at the girl before him, whose eyes seemed to move following something he couldn't see. "We still have so much to learn about you, but that can wait. Right now we need to get some formalities done."

"Formalities?" She sat back on her chair, arms crossing over her chest.

The man opened the folder and grabbed a clean piece of paper. "We have a preliminary report on the, uh, events of this week," he grabbed the elegant fountain pen from his front pocket and began scribbling down with smooth movements. "but we need an official statement on how you acquired your, um, abilities, to put them that way… Explain how you became, uh…" He trailed off when the lights flickered.

The man tried to keep his cool, but he gulped hard, his tie feeling suddenly too tight. He watched her squint her eyes slightly as the room turned light and dark, he could've sworn her eyes gleamed like headlights for a moment, a ring of gold that twirled around her irises. "Miss Fowler?" He asked, keeping his voice as steady and authoritarian as he could.

The lights turned back on. The man let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. Rapidly, he scribbled the word 'Unstable' on a corner of his paper and underlined it. "Miss Fowler," he cleared his throat, "may we continue?"

The corner of her mouth was softly pulled upwards. "I wasn't aware we'd started."

"Right," He took another paper, a computer printed file with a photograph stapled on top. He briefly made note of the kid in the picture. About sixteen years old, with uncanny resemblance of the girl before him, if you just took out the bruises and the clear trauma she'd experienced. The girl before him seemed to have aged at least a decade since the picture was taken, instead of two years. "The agency would like to know if you recall ever being experimented on…"

"My files are very public record." She interrupted, tilting her hair to the side and closing her eyes like she was tired. "You don't need me to guide you through that."

"Well," he persisted. "Social Services didn't provide very thorough information regarding any extracurricular activities, nothing much on the School reports, or medical records, not as much as the flu, so we're obligated to ask if you took part in any private clinical trial or…"

"There's nothing there because there's nothing to say." She deadpanned. "I wasn't a lab rat, or played with radiation. I've been like this since I can remember… Well, kind of…"

He flipped through pages and reports as she talked, almost ignoring her. "Here, we see multiple requests for relocation from previous foster families, but then how do you explain there wasn't a single complain regarding… Strange activity, at least not since…"

She huffed. "I'm not talking about that."

"It's imperative that you do. Since your assigned social worker, Ms. Simon, failed to include notes regarding your possible erratic conduct before her…"

"If—" She slammed her palms on the table. "You're making assumptions based on government reports, then you're not that much of an intelligence agency. Did you bring me here to go over public records?"

He loosened his tie a little. "We just want the truth."

There was a long silence, electricity cracked through the air. The girl breathed out slowly. "You won't believe me. I couldn't believe it at first, either. I still don't. This whole thing still feels like a nightmare."

"Miss Fowler," he said. "We've all seen things that we wouldn't even dream of. It's a new Era. The Era of miracles, Gods, aliens, magic. You'll find most of us are inclined to believe the unbelievable, specially after the most recent events."

Recent events. Blasts of light, clouds of dust…

Growling, blood dripping, screaming, a hole in the sky…

"Miss Fowler?" She focused her eyes back on the man before her, and caught how the lights turned back on the moment she did so. He seemed positively alarmed, but smiled tightly at her, trying his best to look confident and reassuring. "Alright, Juliet? Can I call you that? Let's start easy then. Why don't you tell me about the day you first came in contact with S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

She looked down and focused on the edge of the table. She heard the faint breeze of the air conditioning coming from the ducts, the heavy breathing of the people behind the glass. The soreness of her limbs as a constant reminder of what happened.

And in the interrogation room she came to realize that, as incredibly uneventful her life had been, her personal freakiness included, she could trace the moment her life spiraled straight to madness down to the date.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

The soothing sound of the sharp graphite tips of over a dozen of pencils scratching paper wasn't uncommon in a classroom, just like the nervous tapping of sneakers against the linoleum and the defeating tick of the clock above the chalkboard decorated with Mr. Newman's sloppy handwriting from the previous Friday. But it was Monday again, and Mr. Newman wasn't sitting on his chair, but a skinnier version of him, younger, seemingly fresh out of community college.

Leah noticed that as soon as she walked inside the English classroom. It was refreshing to start her day off with something other than the old man's wrinkled face, so she hurried to seat front and center. With a single look she warned her friend to seat close behind.

Leah unbuttoned her shirt so the substitute could take a better look at her very developed chest, but her flirty mood was killed off as soon as he announced a quiz on Mr. Newman's Friday lesson.

A good fifteen minutes after the test began, the classroom door opened. Leah eyed the newcomer with disdain, pencil leaning against her glossy lips. The girl seemed familiar to Leah, but she couldn't remember exactly where she'd seen her —not like Leah could imagine herself talking to a girl like her; unruly brown hair, big, bloodshot dark eyes with pronounced purple bags underneath, pale skin with a few dark freckles, lips with a reddish center like she bit them a lot.

Overall, Leah decided, the girl wasn't too ugly, but there was a vibe of unease around her that made Leah want to crawl out of her own skin. And the rest of her appearance didn't help much. Her hand-me-down clothes were a few sizes too big on her petite figure. Her boots were something from the male section of Goodwill. Underneath the wild mane of hair, Leah could see the thin white wires of earbuds.

The taken-back teacher stood up from his chair, smoothening the wrinkles of his shirt. "Bell rang almost half an hour ago, young lady."

The girl held tighter onto her backpack's strap and showed him a yellow slip of paper. "Where's Newman?"

"Mr. Newman," he corrected with a very unattractive snarl, "is home, sick with the flu. I'm Mr. Lee, and you're late for the quiz, Ms. Fowler. Grab a seat." He handed her a piece of paper and hushed her away.

Leah watched as the girl —Fowler, passed by her side and found an empty seat at the back of the room. Her sharp ears didn't miss the muffled beat of the music that was blasting through the earbuds.

Her hand was quick to shoot up in the sky, the charms of her bracelet twinkling. "Yes, miss?" Mr. Lee sighed.

Leah gave him her best smile. "It's Jefferson, Leah Jefferson," she giggled, although Mr. Lee never actually asked for her name. "Can I listen to some music, Mr. Lee? It helps me concentrate." She asked kindly.

Mr. Lee rolled his eyes. "Absolutely not, no electronic devices are allowed during class."

"Oh, I'm sorry, since you let Fowler come inside with her earbuds, I thought your rules were different to Mr. Newman's." Leah turned her head just slightly to see Fowler at the back of the room tense up. Her brain didn't stop for a moment to question how could she hear them, if her music was blasting that loud.

The substitute walked past Leah, following Fowler's path. Leah closed her eyes for a moment to breathe in the smell of his musky cologne.

Fowler, on the other hand, was cursing the day Leah Jefferson was born. "Miss, I'm gonna have to ask you to hand me your phone."

She looked up from her paper. "Mr. Newman allows me to wear them." She said in a low voice, with a raspy sort of voice.

Leah, among other curious kids, watched as the substitute turned red. "Pretty convenient, given Mr. Newman's not here right now. I'm gonna ask you again, hand it over." Suppressing a smile, Leah watched as the professor tangled his fingers around the white wires and pulled them from her ears, dragging an old-fashioned phone, the class was silent, the only thing that could be heard was the buzzing beat of a song Leah didn't know, but it sounded like the kind of old, bad rock music her boyfriend would play much too loud on his Mustang.

Smirking, Leah went back to her work, crossing her legs and giving Mr. Lee an accomplice smile, which he didn't see. During the next few minutes, she kept eyeing Fowler, her cold heart half-expecting her to tear up just a little. If she was ever in her shoes —God forbid, they were hideous—, she would've been so angry she would've yelled at him, detention be damned, but she was focused on her paper. Sighing, Leah figured she'd do the same. In a corner of the paper, surrounded by a big heart, she absentmindedly wrote down the date. March 20th 2012.

Juliet's head was pounding and the last bell refused to ring no matter how hard she stared at the mocking clock that hung from the wall over the blackboard of the science classroom. She shut her eyes hard, hoping to zone out or maybe pass out. The hushed whispers felt like they were screamed through megaphones right against her eardrums, and the teacher's thunderous voice was hushed by everything else. She looked down at her notes and sighed, lips pressing in a thin line. Various incoherent sentences were scribbled all over the page, followed by question marks and random words she could pick up.

Apparently she'd have to teach herself another entire subject if she wanted to graduate.

"…And remember, this is due Thursday, worth ten percent of your final grade…" Clicking her pen, she wrote down 'Thursday — Important — Science thing'. She'll find out what it was on the website anyways. "…asked me to tell you that prom tickets bought in the online pre-sale will be mailed directly to the given address, in case you didn't get them then, you can always ask your class delegates how to buy them…"

She jumped at the sound of the bell and the stampede of thoughts that rushed inside her head like a wave. Juliet sank into her chair and waited, watching as everyone ran outside of the classroom like there was a fire, and then eyed the window next to her, oceans of heads filling the parking lot and jumping inside yellow buses. She slowly put her things inside her beaten down bag and winced at the pain inside her skull.

Through the pieces of paper and pens, she eyed a yellow bottle and pulled it out slowly. "Miss Fowler," she was startled by the voice of the professor, who was standing before the door. She was surprised she missed her presence before, since she was always awfully aware of everyone around her. "the bell rang, are you planning on staying?"

Juliet was almost shaking in her boots when she saw the professor's concerned green eyes travel from her tired face to the yellow bottle. She quickly grabbed it, making sure her hand completely covered the white label with someone else's name on it. "Yeah," she muttered. "Sorry."

She finished packing her things and ran out of her seat, making her way towards the door. "You know," the professor unexpectedly put a hand over Juliet's shoulder. She gasped in surprise, jumping away from the woman's worried gaze. "There's a counselor you can talk to, if you're feeling sad or having certain thoughts…"

"I'm fine." She said, holding onto the strap of her backpack until her knuckles turned white. "I got distracted. Sorry."

She turned around and ran straight to the principal's office, leaping through the empty hallways until she found the right door. Half open, Juliet eyed the distinct brown box next to the secretary's desk. She knew the 'Confiscated' box very well, since it wasn't the first —or the last time her iPod was taken from her. She entered the room and grabbed the beaten down device from a small pile of x-rated magazines and flip phones.

Juliet put the earbuds back on —where they belonged— and turned her old friend back on, full volume on, until the only thing inside her head was the sound of the bass of an eighties rock song.

Her hands found the yellow bottle inside the pocket of her jacket and pulled it out. It was a simple prescription bottle that read 'Aderall (Amphetamines), Felix P. Turner, one capsule on mouth, two times a day, for fifteen days'. She didn't worry too much about Felix P. Turner getting his fix. After all, God knows she needed it more than he did.

Juliet popped open the bottle and grabbed two white pills, filling her mouth with saliva before putting them in, swallowing them. The lumps traveled down her throat harshly, leaving her with a dry mouth and a strong urge to cough, but she simply walked towards the exit of the building.

House empty, everything was dead silent, except for the muffled hum of music that came from a room on the second floor, at the end of the hall. Behind a locked door, Juliet was sitting on the floor next to the window that viewed to the empty street. The sky outside was grey, as usual on a fall afternoon in East Harlem, New York. Juliet sat with her back against the dark blue wallpaper, her brown hair was uncombed, simply pushed behind her ears, and the white earbuds blasted a song by Papa Roach. Thighs pushed close to her chest, she pressed a thin piece of paper against her knees, cleaning it of wrinkles before her slender fingers blindly touched the floor next to her, reaching for the contents of a small silver can.

Grabbing a piece of the green leaves, she put it in the center of the paper and rolled it tightly, then licked the edge and pressed it shut.

As she reached for the lighter, her music was cut by the ringing of the phone. Juliet eyed the screen of the phone next to her before pressing the small button on the chord. "Hello?"

"I have good news!" The sweet, but overly-excited voice of Lola Simon blasted through the earpieces. Juliet cringed, turning the volume halfway down.

She distractedly lit up the end of the rolled blunt and took a drag. "I'm moving out?"

"Don't be like that, the Young's are really good people!" She scolded. Juliet could hear the traffic and faint sound of a radio talk-show at the other end of the line. "It's even better, there's a family at Jersey that's interested in your file!" She then made a sound like a squeal. Juliet pulled the window open just enough to breathe out the smoke and looked at the picture in her phone.

The woman smiling at the camera was in her late thirties, with dark brown, shoulder-length curly hair and brown skin. Her eyes gleamed like lightbulbs and her smile almost reached her ears. Lola Simon was entirely too optimistic for someone who worked with orphaned kids for a living. "That's impressive." Juliet muttered.

"Alright, you better leave that attitude at home before I pick you up to meet them." Lola said. The honk of a truck was heard on the other line and then a series of swear words from the social services agent's mouth. "Son of a motherfuck— I'm five past limit, asshole!, oopsie, don't repeat that! What was I saying? Right! Interview! The family wants to meet you, so we organized a little dinner today, how's that sound?"

Juliet put the blunt between her lips and took a long drag. "Like a train wreck waiting to happen." She breathed out, her head feeling clearer.

"Such a ray of—Wait, what's that?" There was a pregnant pause. "Juliet, are you smoking?"

She took another drag. "No."

"I swear to God if you're—Oh, hold, call on the other line. I'll pick you up at six, wear something pretty. And shower, please."

Something pretty. Juliet looked at the half-empty closet full of dull colors and thrift-store jeans. "I'll hit the stores, maybe buy that Armani I liked the other day."

"Yeah, that sounds… Oh, really smart, if you actually—Crap, they're still in the line. Alright, get ready, we don't wanna be late."

Juliet breathed the smoke out of the window and rested her chin on the window ledge, seeing as the smoke disappeared into thin air. She heard the call end and then closed her eyes, drawing her eyebrows together. "Wouldn't dream of it."

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]

So, as you can see, I pushed the rating from T to M because I realized I'll be dealing with delicate subjects such as drug use, depression, and more stuff as the story unfolds. Juliet will have tons of issues but they're all part for the incredible slow character development I have planned for her. Also, this will be a painfully slow-burn, so be prepared to wait. Like, a lot. As you can see, Juliet is underage and yes, there will be a major age difference between her and... You know what? I'll shut up now. I want to thank personally to everyone who's already following the story and the wonderful reviewers GawkyTC and Pastelle!

I'll do my best to update as soon as humanly possible, but please be patient, since I suffer from the worst case of Writer's Block ever. Also I procrastinate a lot.

So, thank you, if you made it through my ridiculously long author's note, I'll promise I'll try to keep it short and sweet next time!

Reviews and constructive criticism are deeply appreciated, I'll love to answer questions as long as they're spoiler free!


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